


GREGORY

by scifirevolutions



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kidlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 21:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2285109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifirevolutions/pseuds/scifirevolutions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past about Mycroft's and Sherlock's 3rd brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Holmes Brothers

 

"Daaaaaad!" Mycroft yelled running downstairs, "Sherlock blew my lab up!"

Mr. Holmes folded up his newspaper and took a deep breath.

"Mycroft said I could use it." Sherlock answered from the landing on the 2d floor.

"I said you could conduct a small experiment; I didn't give you permission to build a BOMB and then TEST it on my bedroom!"

"Well I sure as couldn't blow my own bedroom up; It just wouldn't be convenient." Sherlock replied hopping downstairs.

"You're paying for the repairs, plus a compensation fee."

"I don't get an allowance, so too bad"

"Then you'll pay me when you do, with interest" Mycroft spun around to his father, "Dad, I want a written statement from Sherlock."

 

Mr. Holmes looked around, prying that Mrs. Holmes would show up to rescue him.

"Mycroft, Sherlock's only 4, he can't even write yet."

"Oh I can write, Dad, I learnt last year after learning how to read," Sherlock said cheerfully.

"What are you beaming for, you're reading capacity is only 200 words a minute. At your age I was reading twice as fast." Mycroft snapped.

"Well, maybe I would be reading a lot faster if someone would share their books."

"Daaaad!" Mycroft moaned, "Sherlock can't read my books, they're mine and not for his age."

"Why? Because they consist of political economics?"

"You don't even know what that means. So, don't be smart, Sherlock, I'm the smart one."

 

Mrs. Holmes suddenly entered the room carrying a dead frog in one hand and dragging a short and dirty boy with the other.

"Siger dear, Gregory’s straggled another one of my frogs again." She whispered, "Don't you think we should get him help."

"... " Mr. Holmes was now holding back a short tempered Mycroft from Sherlock who was jumping on the table by means to provoke his older sibling.

 

"Well, you deal with it, I'm going out to do the shopping." Mrs. Holmes finally said, "And make sure they don't break anything." She added leaving out the front door.

Suddenly the sound of shattering glass resonated from behind them, but Mrs. Holmes was already making her way to the car.

 

Mr. Holmes watched her pull out the driveway and he then turned back to find his three sons demolish the living room.

 


	2. The Thunder Arrangement

Shadows danced around the room as thunder roared from above. Mycroft grabbed the pillow from underneath him and covered his ears. From the corner of the room, the door slowly creaked open and Greg silently tiptoed in.

 

"Mycroft, Sherlock said that thunder is caused by the Gods fighting. What if they hit me by accident. I saw their lighting guns shoot out of the sky by my window."

"He's lying Greg, just go to bed!"

"ok" Greg mumbled not wanting to anger Mycroft further.

 

At least he had called him Greg, so he couldn't have been that mad. Greg hated when people used his full name; It made him feel so old, but no matter how many times he told his parents, they always seemed determined to pronounce every syllable of his name. Even Sherlock called him Greg, well besides when mocking him.

 

Greg placed his small hand over the handle and deprived himself of a backward glance as he left the darkened room.

 

Not long after, Mycroft heard weeping coming from outside his bedroom. He slipped out of bed and made his way to the hallway. Crouched on the carpet floor, he found Greg with his head in his arms.

 

"I promise you it's not the Gods; there are no Gods or God"

"How do you know?" whimpered Greg

"Well firstly-" Mycroft looked into Greg's eyes and saw that no amount of philosophical theories was going to smooth the terror from his face.

"Do you want me to tuck you into bed?" Mycroft asked remembering how mother used to put Greg to sleep (that was before Sherlock's arrival and coincidentally Greg's unusual obsession with killing animals).

"Can I sleep with you" Greg begged looking up, the tears still dripping off of his cheeks.

"Ok, but solely tonight."

"Every thunder night" Greg protested.

"Only if you promise never to kill another animal." Mycroft never thought that the bargain would work, but the little boy immediately nodded his head in agreement.

 

Mycroft let his little brother climb in first before taking his place on the edge of the other side. As the thunder roared on, Mycroft started to hear faint snoring.

 


	3. Mycroft's Secret

Mycroft was now 16 and in his final year of high school. He would have already been in university by now, but he could never leave the love of his life for a trivial affaire of formalities. In 8th grade, he had failed a couple of his classes so that he could stay in the same grade as Moran. Moran was well one of those muscle builders stereotypically not that bright, but his loyalty was touching and lets not even mention sex. Of course, Mycroft never told his parents this; they had just assumed it was because of his involvement with charity workshops that his grades had fallen. Because if they ever found out he was gay, they would surely kick him out of the house. Not that Mycroft needed his parents financially (he had been approached several times for gifted youth job positions), but his leaving would destroy Greg. He would be turning 11 next week, but still he slept with Mycroft every night there was thunder. He was scared of many a thing for his age and was also a little short compared to most. Sherlock who was three years younger was now almost surpassing Greg.

 

It was a sunny morning and Mycroft left the house in good mood. Normally he had the wake up early to drop Greg off at middle school, but today Greg would be staying home with the flu. Mycroft didn't hate his younger brother, but he wasn't the easiest person to be with.

 

Like his brothers, he started to read at an early age (not as fast as he and Sherlock however) and was instantly drawn to the fantastical (and some romantics). He would have been the typical teen geek who often quoted great poets such as Shakespeare and Victor Hugo if it wasn't for his more sinistral side. His isolating behavior was also threatening and most of the kids at school were scared of him.

 

On the other hand, when he was with Mycroft he never shut up, which was why Mycroft could enjoy a peacefully quiet journey to school today. Mycroft's cheerfulness would soon disappear when the 85 bus would arrive 30 seconds after Mycroft's calculated time (he had even taken into consideration this morning's traffic). He would latter deduce that it was a young man running after the bus that delayed it so.

 

Meanwhile, back at home, Greg lay in bed staring up at the light blue celling above. The light passing through the blinds was irritating his eyes; no way of getting any sleep in these conditions. His whole body felt numb, especially anything remotely near his nose and a sharp pain hit his lungs every time he drew breath. Suddenly, he felt his body start to shake.

"Aaaachou." A flow of liquid white substance shout out of his nostrils and all over the bed sheets.

"Damn." Greg reached over for the box of tissues laying on the near bedside table. But instead of finding soft and fluffy relief, his hand hit a hard cardboard bottom.

"Whyyyy?" Greg complained as he crawled out of bed and dragged himself to the bathroom.

 

After many an attempt to stack two stools and clamber onto the rim of the sink, he managed to open the top shelf cupboard. Swinging the large door open, he peered up: Nothing; they had run out of tissues again.

 

Since Greg didn't fancy rubbing his nose with rough toilet paper, he wondered if Mycroft might have a box in his room. Mycroft was always very organized and once something of his ran out, it was always rapidly replaced. Greg pushed open the door and tiptoed in. He knew that Mycroft wouldn't be home until 6:00 this evening, but the mere thought of him finding out, made Greg shutter beforehand.

 

He started to look for a box of tissues making sure not to touch a single object. Every month Mycroft would dust his room for finger prints. Mostly because Sherlock started stealing Mycroft's pirate novels. Greg was almost about to give up, when he noticed a purple shaded box laying near the corner of his bed. That was odd because Mycroft rarely placed anything on those wax polished floor boards of his. Greg gently pulled out one, but much to his disappointment the box also moved a couple of inches.

"Shit!" However before Greg could panic any further, under the box he caught sight of what seemed to be a fashion magazine. What the hell was Mycroft doing with one of those? He had always said that "running after girls" was something of little interest to him. Greg had stopped worrying about Mycroft's future enragement; there was no way he could prevent that now. He picked up the magazine staring at the half naked man on the cover and flipped though the pages stopping every now and then at pictures where a man would be fully naked. In most pictures the man would be posing by himself, but every so often he would come across an array of men in some very compromising situations. As he read on, Greg's heartbeat started to accelerate and he felt a slight tingle in his pants.

 

When he was finished(not that there was a begging to start with), he placed the magazine back under the purple box and closed the door behind him(not that it was going to do much good). Greg slipped back into bed, thoughts racing through his head.

 


	4. Brotherly Love

Mycroft was exhausted when he reached the door step of the old cottage-like house. Most fridays Mycroft would arrive worn out after karate lessons, but today his teacher had picked on him more then usual. He never should have mentioned his passion to his parents. He had been quiet content learning online; It was much more effective, not to mention less painful. The point was to strike your opponent using the least amount of strength and effort, not to go blundering about in the hopes to 'build character'.

 

Anyways, luckily it was already dawn, thanks to those short autumn days, and Mycroft would be able to turn in early. He reached his room and hung his school bag on it's hook without even emptying it. As he climbed into bed, after having changed into his pajamas(without bothering to shower) he noticed an anomaly though the corner of his eye.

"The cunt's now taken to stealing my tissues?" He mumbled before blacking out into profound sleep.

 

***

 

It was midnight and almost everyone was asleep. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had retired to their room hours ago and Mycroft's door hadn't opened since he staggered (that is staggering by Mycroft's standards) in at 6:00 this evening. Was he mad at him? Refusing to leave his room until Greg apologized? Besides Greg, only Sherlock was awake, as usual reading god-knows-what under the covers of his bed. His flashlight shined brightly through the thin green-shaded sheets.

 

Greg glanced over at the window, the sky was clear and a full moon shone brightly in the depth. Being in bed all day made sleeping at night very difficult.

"I'm going to the toilet." Greg whispered over to Sherlock.

All he received in return was a small grunt and a flip of a page.

 

However, Greg made his way to Mycroft's room, pushed open the large door and stood at the foot of his bed.

"There's a thunder storm, Mycroft." It wasn't until he'd said it, that Greg realized how untenable that sounded; Obviously Mycroft could hear the absence of any kind of storm whatsoever.

However, Mycroft just mumbled something and shifted to the side. Greg jumped into the bed eagerly and pulled the covers up to his nose.

 

Greg was on his back and Mycroft on his side facing the opposite direction. Greg shifted his eyes in Mycroft's direction and rolled over on his side curling his body around Mycroft's outline, almost touching him.

 

***

 

Mycroft had sensed Greg enter the room. It wasn't even raining outside, but he was too tired to have to deal with this right now. He tried to push away tomorrow’s Visual Arts test from his mind as he fell back asleep. Just as he was drifting off to a pleasant dream of him and Moran at the cinemas watching his favorite James Bond movie, he felt a hand slide across his upper thigh. His pants started to lower as a cold presence wrapped itself around his cock.

"What the Fuck!" Mycroft had never swore before, but the word seemed to just flow out of him.

He turned over to Greg and pushed him out of the bed before getting out himself.

 

Greg remained crouched on the floor like a wounded dog before slowly rising to his feet. _And were those tears in his eyes?_

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you." Mycroft said stepping closer meaning to take Greg into his arms.

"I thought that's what you liked," Greg whimpered.

"What?!!?" Mycroft stopped. That hit him hard at his heart. He never thought that he would ever be guilted concerning his sexuality; certainly not coming from Greg.

"Don't you like me?" Greg asked pulling his pajama top off. "Do I not look sexy enough?"

"Stop it! Stop this now Greg! It isn't funny." But Mycroft could see that Greg was unfortunately not messing with him.

Greg stepped closer making for his pants, "I can make you feel good, I really can."

Mycroft tried to step back, but had somehow lost the control over his legs. However as soon as he felt the touch of Greg's hands on his hips, his body reacted instantaneously. His right leg thrust up into Greg's stomach, making him bend over. Followed by this, was his arm snapping forward, palm open, against Greg's bare chest, causing him to propel backwards.

 

***

 

It all happened so fast and in a state of shock it took Mycroft a while before he understood what had just happened. The window in front of him was shattered, the curtains lightly blowing, brushing against the shards of glass remaining on the sides of the frame.

 

Mycroft walked over to the window and peered down at the tragic scene below. Blood seemed to be seething out of the ground as the red stains spread out across the paved tiles. Contrary to the breathtaking (pun intended) scenery, Greg's face was far from peaceful. Apart from the tears having inflated both his eyes and nose, his mouth remained wide open, his eyes rolled up towards his messy dark brown hair, an expression of terror transfixed upon his face.

 

***

 

Mycroft leaned out of the window, ready to let go of the weight holding his body back... "Mycroft" came a small voice from the other side of the room. "I can't find Greg."

 


	5. The Greg Complex

20 years later, a middle aged man hovered over the endless paperwork that invaded his desk. He glanced over at the large cartel clock perfectly hung on the wall overhead. 8:00; He would finish the rest tomorrow morning, not that there was a deadline anyhow.

 

Just as Mycroft was locking up, the office phone rang. He hit the speaker button the on large machine. Sherlock always made fun of his esthetic preference for antique furniture, including his outdated electronic appliances. But when it came to his office phone he had to admit it was rather an embarrassing detail to bare.

 

"I have DI Lestrade out here waiting to see you." his secretary said from the other side of the line.

This was the last thing he needed. Lestrade, or "Greg" as he insisted, had been eagerly trying to meet up with him these last few months. Furthermore, His excuses were pathetic, but the worst part was that Mycroft actually felt warmed by his approach.

 

After the tragic accident years ago, Mycroft broke up with Moran and has since never permitted himself to such vulnerability (which didn't prove difficult at all). However, Lestrade was an exception. Besides the fact that he had a beautiful body, especially when wearing his slim black work suit, Lestrade had a kind and loyal quality to him. The rest of which made Lestrade attractive was a complete mystery to Mycroft. And not something he was eager to indulge in; certainly not with a man named Greg.

 

"Guide him in," Mycroft quickly replied. Might as well deal with the problem here and now.

Little did he know that his attempt to politely decline Lestrade's intentions, would end up as a proposal for dinner tonight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> References to:  
> BBC's Sherlock TV Series (2010)  
> Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle  
> Quotes from Mark Gatiss  
> Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one Fanart Picture by thebritishteapot  
> The Lord and the Tramp Fanfiction by PUNIFA  
> Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street by Baring-Gould


End file.
